


Driving to Distraction

by shrift



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-03-24
Updated: 2002-03-24
Packaged: 2018-11-11 05:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11142111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrift/pseuds/shrift
Summary: Fraser's distracted.  (AKA "The GTO Job".)





	Driving to Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017.
> 
> Note from shrift: To colleen, realitycek and AuKestrel, for egging me on in chat and providing live feedback; thanks also to denise and AuK for coming through with the porn brownies to remedy some craptacular life events.

Ray was absently tapping his fingers on the wheel, singing along to the radio under his breath until he belted out a lyric about driving around in a GTO. Fraser exhaled rather more loudly than he'd planned when he realized that, at some point, he'd forgotten to continue breathing.

His good fortune stunned him senseless at times, rather than merely leaving him breathless.

Ray rolled his head back on his shoulders and closed his eyes for a moment, then turned to look at him. "Got something against my singing, Fraser?" 

A muscle in Fraser's jaw clenched, and it took several seconds for him to respond. Ray's face was lit unevenly from the street lamps, his eyelashes slanting a shadow over his cheek from behind the lenses of his glasses. 

"No. Of course not, Ray." Fraser was not so besotted that Ray's singing voice sounded melodic to his discerning ear, but enthusiasm for a thing sometimes held more meaning than raw talent. 

And today, Ray's enthusiasm was driving Fraser to distraction. 

Fraser had been staring at his partner for quite some time, approximately eighteen minutes and ten seconds since Ray had finished interrogating an uncooperative witness in a double-homicide. Fraser had followed his partner out of the room, watching the fierce scowl fade as Ray shook out his shoulders. 

"Punk," Ray had muttered, rubbing his nape. His long fingers were ink-stained from where he'd gripped a pen too hard while questioning the nineteen year old eyewitness, one Mr. Kenneth Doyle. "C'mon, Fraser. Let's get out of here before you gotta break out the cuffs for police brutality." 

Ray had turned then and grinned. Fraser had said nothing, not trusting himself with the image of Ray restrained by the handcuffs tucked into his Sam Browne. Not when an unfettered and unadorned Ray Kowalski was already making Fraser hold his Stetson in front of his groin as a precautionary measure. 

Fraser was still staring when Ray narrowed his eyes. "You laughing at me?" 

"Laughing?" Fraser said. His voice was low, catching a little on his throat. "No, Ray. I'm not laughing." 

"Mm." Ray pulled forward when the light turned and began tapping his fingers again. Fraser shifted in his seat, opting for a more blatant perusal now that they were alone. 

At the next stoplight, Ray said, "You're looking at me." 

Fraser felt no reason to deny the obvious, or to deny himself the pleasure. "Yes. Yes, I am." 

Ray growled softly, a frustrated noise that sent Fraser shifting in his seat again. The upholstery creaked. "And that would be why?" 

"I enjoy looking at you." Unrepentant, he said, "Am I making you uncomfortable?" 

Ray glanced at him quickly. "What's up with you, Fraser?" 

"What's up?" Fraser asked, voice still low. "The sky is up. Your hair is--" 

"With you, Fraser. What's up with _you_?" 

He found it quite endearing that Ray honestly didn't know. 

"Pull over," Fraser said. 

Ray blinked at him. "What?" 

"Pick an alley." 

"Alley? You--" Ray abruptly cut himself off, comprehension dawning on his face. His eyes flickered down to Fraser's lap and he licked his lips. "Yeah, okay." 

Ray's leg was still flexing on the brake when Fraser unhooked their seat belts, reaching over to set the parking brake. 

Fraser nuzzled Ray's crotch for a moment, sliding one hand up the worn denim covering his thigh. His fingers felt clumsy sliding the buttons out of their loops while Ray squirmed beneath him, panting softly, body warm and firm beneath his clothing. Ray's left hand gripped the steering wheel while his other pressed against the small of Fraser's back. 

"Jesus," Ray whispered, arching obligingly so Fraser could tug down Ray's jeans and underwear. Fraser ducked down immediately and inhaled, taking in the mingled scents of fabric softener, the bitter sharpness of Ray's growing arousal. The chemical smell of the ink staining Ray's fingers. 

"Fuck," Ray said distinctly when Fraser took him into his mouth. Ray's fingers threaded into his hair, pulling him down between his thighs, one hand protecting the back of Fraser's head from the steering wheel. 

Ray's flesh was hard and warm against Fraser's tongue, Ray's taste blossoming in his mouth. Fraser hummed lightly and was gratified to hear the smacking sound of the back of Ray's head hitting his headrest. 

Fraser slid his hand over Ray's hip and down the back of Ray's jeans, curling around him as much as possible, grateful that the GTO's gearbox sat low. "Oh god, oh god," Ray said, voice shaking, fingers clenching in Fraser's hair as he took Ray deeper. He pulled back and fluttered his tongue, and Ray made a strangled sound, half-choke and half-growl. 

He felt Ray try to spread his legs wider, hampered by the door and the manual gear shift. The impact of Ray's knuckles against the steering wheel caused Fraser to momentarily wish that Ray's seat wasn't already on its last setting to accommodate Ray's long legs. 

Fraser pushed his hand farther down the back of Ray's jeans, scraping up the inner seam of Ray's thigh with his thumbnail, then stroking Ray's scrotum through his jeans. Ray whimpered and the sound shot down Fraser's spine, reminding him that he was painfully hard, rubbing against the smooth upholstery of the passenger seat. 

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," Ray chanted, voice ragged and desperate. Ray tugged on Fraser's hair. "Can't drive like this. Want you to do me." 

The pronouncement caused Fraser to make an obscene sound around Ray's penis, a loud, wet moan. Ray's hand shifted, his thumb ghosting over the seam of Fraser's lips. Ray's thumb pressed inside, the taste of salt and ink mingling with semen. 

"Shit-shit-shit," Ray said, and then he was curling over Fraser's body, his teeth closing over the skin exposed between Fraser's hairline and the high collar of his uniform. Fraser shoved his elbow against Ray's knee, attempting to spread Ray's legs even farther, possessively hunched over Ray's lap. Ray began thrusting his hips up arrhythmically, his breath hot and moist on Fraser's neck. 

"I'm--" Ray blurted, and then he was coming in Fraser's mouth, Fraser swallowing greedily. Fraser let Ray slip from his mouth after a moment and pressed his cheek against Ray's twitching thigh. He could still feel Ray's size and shape at the back of his throat when Ray leaned back in his seat, allowing Fraser to sit up. 

Ray sprawled in the driver's seat, his jeans still open at the fly. His eyes were mere slits behind his glasses, color high on his cheeks, hair dark with sweat at his temples. "Hey," he said. "C'mere." 

And then Ray was pulling on Fraser's lanyard. Ray's kiss was wet and sloppy, the kind of kiss Ray always referred to as 'nasty' without explaining the pejorative description of such a pleasurable event. Fraser gasped into Ray's mouth when his warm, long-fingered hand cupped his erection. 

"Mm," Ray said. Ray licked Fraser's lips, then up his jaw. "What'd I do?" Ray asked, slow and thick, "'cause I want to be able to do it again." 


End file.
